


The Butler and the Iron Man

by Pickwick12



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3140708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pickwick12/pseuds/Pickwick12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edwin Jarvis is not only the perfect butler; he's also the caretaker of a neglected little boy named Tony Stark. This story is about the ways Jarvis's care helped Tony through the hardest times in his childhood and the darkest days of his adulthood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Not now, Tony. I'll check on you when I get back."

A tiny, dark-haired boy in pajamas stands in the doorway of his father's room, watching him spray on cologne and button his powder blue shirt. After a last look in the mirror, Howard takes a long drink from his metal flask and leaves the room, ruffling the little boy's hair in passing. Tony wishes he could run to his mother, but she's visiting his aunt in a city far away, and even when she's home, she's usually busy. The little boy goes out into the middle of the hallway and stands there, staring down at his sock-clad feet and feeling empty.

"There you are, Master Tony." The voice is deep and English. "It's nearly your bedtime."

"Ok, Jarvis," the boy answers listlessly, looking up into the face of his tall butler. Jarvis puts out a hand, and the little boy takes it, walking with him across the house and to the wing that contains his bedroom.

Tony's room is huge, like most of the rooms in the Stark house, and it contains a myriad of every kind of toy in existence. Sometimes he spends the last few minutes before bed sitting on the thick blue carpet and imagining that he's a train or an airplane, but this night he doesn't feel like playing, and Jarvis doesn' t even ask. That's the funny thing about Jarvis. He always seems to know how the little boy feels, even if Tony doesn't tell him.

The butler sits down on Tony's bed with his back against the wall. "I was thinking a bedtime story might be in order," he says. The little boy nods and clambers up into his lap. Immediately, like always, Jarvis's arms wrap around him tightly.

Tony snuggles into the soft wool of his butler's vest and listens as Jarvis's deep voice begins. "Once upon a time, there was a king named George and a huge, scaly dragon." The story is Tony's favorite, and it's always the same. That's why it's so comforting. King George is always scared and always brave, and he inevitably picks up his sword and kills the hideous beast that's terrorizing his kingdom.

By the time Jarvis is finished, Tony is nearly asleep, but when the soft voice finally finishes with "The End," he opens his eyes wide and looks up at the butler.

"Jarvis," he says, "I wish you were my dad."

"Your father loves you very much," is the reply.

The little boy answers sleepily, his head drooping onto his butler's chest. "But you're the one who's always here." The butler holds him until he drifts toward sleep, and he barely feels it when he's placed in bed with a thick quit over him.

"Good night, Jarvis," he says, practically in his sleep.

"Good night, Master Tony."

—-

A dark-haired man in dirt-stained clothes lies prone on a hard slab, scared and in pain. His every sense is alert to the sounds around him and the fears that ricochet around his mind. There is no comfort in the cave where his captors keep him. All he wants is sleep.

He closes his eyes, trying to find an image to quiet his consciousness. He thinks of home and family, but the thought of his parents only agitates him more. He lets his mind wonder through his boyhood home, as if he's all of six years old again, until he lights on a sound he remembers well—the soft clapping of leather shoe soles against the hard floor. Jarvis's shoes.

In his imagination, he stops in the middle of the hallway and waits for the butler to come into view. "It's time for bed, Master Tony." The comforting voice is easy to recall.

"Will you tell me the story of King George and the Dragon?" he asks.

"Of course." In his mind, Jarvis smiles and takes his hand, leading him to bed.

Tony feels his breathing slow as he focuses on the feeling of his hand in the butler's. He'd always felt like nothing bad could ever happen to him when Jarvis was near.

They enter his bedroom, and he recalls it as it was when he was very young, with his telescope and his toy box. His imagination has always been vivid, but he's suddenly afraid he'll lose the image.

"Come." Jarvis's voice quiets him, as kind as it had always been. Even the man's scoldings had been gentle. In his mind, he forces himself to focus on the remembered sensation of the butler's strong arms lifting him onto his knee.

The prisoner, broken and alone, begins to feel his fears lessen as he recalls the soothing familiarity of the story he's heard a thousands times, the story of a terrified young king and the dragon he had to vanquish.

"I can't kill the dragon," he says to Jarvis. He'd never said that as a boy, but he feels it vehemently now.

In Tony's imagination, the butler smiles down at his child self and hugs him tightly. "I believe in you, Master Tony." He can't recall if Jarvis every actually said that to him in real life, but it calms him to his core.

He stops the memory there, not wanting to lose the recollection of the feeling of his butler's safe arms around him, shielding and strengthening him. He finally drifts off to sleep in the middle of the recollection of the sound of Jarvis's heart beating under his ear.

The next morning, Tony Stark awakens in a dank cave, with dirty clothes and a body in pain. He opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, and he smiles. This is the day George picks up his sword. This is the day the battle will begin.


	2. Gentlemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole Stark household knows Tony just wants his father's attention--all except Howard Stark.

"Just pay them off, Jarvis, however much it takes to keep them happy."

The butler is standing in Howard Stark's study with one hand on Tony's shoulder. The little boy looks abashed, even a little scared.

Jarvis tries again, a little more strongly. "Is that our entire response, Sir?"

"Yeah, yeah," answers Howard. "I have to leave for Stockholm in ten minutes."

The butler looks down at the little boy and sees a crestfallen look cross his face. "Master Tony," he orders, not unkindly, "go to your room." He sends the boy off with a pat on the back.

"Bye, Sport," says the elder Stark.

As soon as Tony is gone, Jarvis breathes deeply and gives it one last shot. "Mr. Stark, forgive me for harping on this, but don't you think theft of the neighbors' dog and keeping him hidden in the house calls for a slightly stronger answer than paying off the owners?"

"Do they want something other than money?" Howard asks, clearly confused.

"No, Sir," the butler answers. "I mean—a stronger response to Master Tony."

Just then, a man in a suit comes barreling into the house. "Mr. Stark, we're ready for you."

Howard nods. "Sorry, Jarvis, Stockholm calls." He comes around his desk and strides toward the door, taking a moment to look back. "If—you want to deal with Tony, it's your call." With that, he's gone.

The butler stands in his employer's study for a few moments to collect himself. He's not an angry man, and he doesn't enjoy the feeling of ire rising up in him. He folds his arms in front of him and does more deep breathing, wondering if he should have said more, wishing he could have said what he'd actually been thinking. "The whole household knows Master Tony is only trying to get your attention," he imagines himself saying. "He wants you to care if he's naughty." But it's not his place, and being let go from his position wouldn't help the little boy at all.

Finally, when he has control of himself, he makes his way down the hall toward Tony's room. He knocks lightly on the closed door. "It's Jarvis," he says.

"Come in," says a soft voice from inside. The butler opens it and finds the younger Stark curled up on his bed with tears on his face. "He didn't even care!" Tony sobs.

"Steady on," Jarvis answers, sitting on the bed and pulling the boy up to sit next to him, putting his arm around the shaking shoulders. "Keeping the neighbors from being angry is his way of trying to take care of you."

Tony shakes his head. "He pays everybody off, so he doesn't have to do anything." Jarvis doesn't respond to this, since he knows the little boy isn't wrong.

The butler keeps Tony close until the little boy's tears turn to light sniffles. Then, he moves the dark, sweaty hair off his charge's forehead and gives him a pointed look. "I certainly care, Master Tony, and I must say, I'm a bit disappointed in your behavior." He notices the boy's eyes widen, and he feels with satisfaction that his words are having the desired effect.

"Gentlemen," he continues, "do not pilfer other people's pets."

"I was going to give it back," Tony says softly.

"Be that as it may," Jarvis answers, not letting him escape eye contact, "it was a very, very naughty thing to do."

"Sorry," says the boy, his face downcast.

The butler almost smiles. Tony is an impulsive child, but he's always just as quick to see the error of his ways. He never really wants to get away with things; he always wants someone to stop him—ideally, Howard Stark, but that rarely happens.

"I think perhaps spending tomorrow restricted to the house to think about our behavior as gentlemen would be in order," says Jarvis.

Tony looks up at him and nods. "Ok."

The butler hugs the little boy, who returns the embrace with his thin arms. "I love you, Jarvis," he says, after a few seconds, his voice muffled by the fabric of the older man's waistcoat.

Jarvis blinks and smiles, his chin resting on top of Tony's tousled hair. He cannot fix Howard Stark, but he can guard his little boy's openness to the world. "I love you, too, Master Tony," he answers. And he does. It's as simple as that.

\---

Tony Stark wakes up with a hangover. He can't remember the night before very well, but he has a vague impression of having said and done several very stupid things. It doesn't really matter. It never matters. He's a billionaire, and he's powerful. No one ever dares to complain—well, except for the occasional raised eyebrow from Pepper Potts, but she's overseeing a business merger in Tikrit.

"Good morning, Sir." The pleasant voice of JARVIS greets him as soon as he gets out of bed.

"Morning, JARVIS," he answers. "I need something for a hangover."

"I'll have the chef prepare something immediately," says the AI deferentially.

Tony splashes water on his face and wets his hair. "JARVIS," he says, "don't you have anything to say about gentlemanly behavior?"

"I'm sorry, Sir," the computer system answers. "That is not in my programming. Would you like me to read you the Encyclopedia Britannica article entitled "Gentlemen?" Tony laughs, thinking of the face of the real Edwin Jarvis, who would have had a great deal to say about proper behavior after the party of the night before.

"Sorry, Jarvis," he says quietly.

"For what, Sir?" asks JARVIS the computer.

"You always believed I could be better. I'm sorry for failing you," Tony answers.

"Sir, it is impossible for you to fail JARVIS," answers the AI promptly.

Tony smiles. Strangely enough, that sounds exactly like what his butler would have said.


	3. Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lionhearts are buried under tweed and wool and the smell of pipe tobacco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Iron Man comics canon, Howard Stark is an alcoholic during Tony's childhood. I don't like it any more than you do, but there's not much of a way to escape the fact that Howard isn't a great parent. That doesn't mean he's a totally unsympathetic character in his own right, but he's not winning dad of the year.

Tony Stark stands in the doorway of his bedroom. It's three in the morning, and he's not supposed to be up, but the sound of yelling roused him from sleep. He listens as the noise gets closer, and finally, the hallway is filled with the voice of his father. Into the little boy's view comes Jarvis, teetering under the weight of Howard Stark, whose body is over his shoulder.

"We're almost there, Mr. Stark," says the butler's measured, calm voice. Howard only answers with a too-loud laugh. The boy's eyes widen. He's never seen his father this way, and he wonders if something is wrong. Howard is always in control. Maybe, Tony thinks, he's sick.

As the two men are about to pass out of the corridor, Jarvis's eyes flicker over to where the little boy stands. "Master Tony, go to bed right now. I'll be back to tuck you in in a moment." Tony shakes his head no. He's worried, and he wants to understand why his father is acting so strangely. "I said, go to bed this instant." the butler does not raise his voice, but his tone is firm, and he locks eyes with the little boy and won't let him look away.

The battle is over in an instant as Tony shuffles back into his room and pounds his small fists into his pillow. He never gets angry at Jarvis. He is this night.

After fifteen minutes have passed, the upset little boy hears a light tap on his door, and he dives under his blanket and turns his face toward the wall.

"Oh dear," he hears Jarvis say, "I guess Master Tony has fallen asleep. I'll just have to speak to his animals, then." The butler sits on the edge of the boy's bed, in front of his feet, and Tony watches out of the corner of his eye as Jarvis picks up his favorite stuffed lion.

"Good evening, Mr. Lionheart," the butler begins. "I'm sorry if the noise frightened you earlier. You see, Mr. Stark wasn't feeling well, but he's just fine now. I had to make sure no one was in the corridor, in case he took a turn for the worse. Thankfully, he's sleeping now, and he'll be as right as rain in the morning."

Jarvis puts down the lion. "Who shall I speak to next?" he asks. "Perhaps Miss Giraffe." Tony can't help the laugh that escapes from his mouth. He turns over slowly and finds the butler looking down at him with an expression he doesn't recognize.

"I'm sorry, Jarvis," he says quietly.

"You have nothing to apologize for," the older man answers, smiling the smile that only takes up the corners of his mouth. The butler silently hands Mr. Lionheart to Tony, who hugs his toy close and watches quietly as Jarvis's strong hands smooth his blanket and rearrange his pillow.

When he can tell the butler is about to leave, Tony reaches out and puts his hand on top of the older man's. Jarvis puts his other hand on top of the little boy's small one and sits quietly, not saying anything at all, until Tony slips into sleep.

—-

"JARVIS, what's tomorrow's weather forecast?" Tony Stark is lying in bed with his head pillowed on his arms.

"Sunny with a thirteen percent chance of precipitation," his computer answers.

"Tell me the distance between earth and every known galaxy, constellation, and planet," Tony says. He closes his eyes as JARVIS's soothing voice begins to list them off one by one.

The AI knows that it's Howard Stark's birthday, but a computer can't know what that means to the son who hadn't planned to visit his grave, but finally did just before dusk turned to nightfall. JARVIS can't comprehend the feelings of the man who found his mind crowded with images of a drunken, unpredictable father. His butler had tried his hardest to protect him from the truth, but it hadn't worked for very long. Tony was too intelligent, and he'd figured out what Howard Stark was.

JARVIS is on the constellation Leo, the Lion. The billionaire smiles to himself in spite of the day's pain. Strangely, he can't remember a single night, out of the many when Howard had come home drunk out of his mind, when Edwin Jarvis hadn't come to his room and checked on him, then stayed as long as it took for Tony to calm down, even if it meant the butler didn't get to sleep until the early hours of the morning.

People say that some are lionhearted, and they usually mean warriors, brave soldiers, people who die in battle. But Tony knows the truth. Some lionhearts are buried under tweed and wool and the smell of pipe tobacco. Sometimes they don't give rise to deeds that save an army or rescue a city. Sometimes they just sit on a little boy's bed and hold his hand until he falls asleep.

"Thanks, JARVIS," Tony breathes, as he feels himself falling into oblivion.


	4. Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My prototype is Edwin Jarvis," the computer answers, "veteran, assistant to Agent Peggy Carter, husband, and butler."

Jarvis is growing frustrated. He's a patient man. He prides himself on it. But worry mixed with frustration does not make for a congenial combination. He's been over the house once. He's halfway through it again when someone knocks on the door. The butler breathes deeply, composes himself, and ties the belt on his robe, back to his usual unflappable exterior before opening it.

"I believe this belongs to you." The policeman is young and businesslike, and he has his left hand on the back of Tony Stark's shirt collar. The little boy is wearing a murderous expression.

"I'm so sorry for your trouble," says Jarvis.

"No problem," the cop answers. "Nice to get a little excitement in this neighborhood once in a while." He pushes Tony inside, not harshly, and nods to the butler. "He's all yours."

"Just so," Jarvis replies with a tight-lipped smile. The policeman turns and goes out into the night, and the butler closes the door behind him before looking down and contemplating the miserable-looking child beside him.

"Jarvis—" the boy begins, but the butler stops him, measuring his words carefully.

"Master Tony, I am not in fit condition to speak to you right now. Go to your room, and I'll be in when I've calmed down." He waits long enough to make sure his orders are obeyed, then goes to his suite.

The Englishman pours himself a glass of water, feeling his heart rate slow and his worry abate. Tony is a far from perfect child, but he's never run away before. Part of the butler wants to shake him into the next century. He can't imagine what he'd have told Howard and Maria Stark, far away on business, if their son had remained missing. More than that, he doesn't know how he'd have lived with himself.

Just then, there's a hesitant tap on the butler's door. He opens it and peers out at nothing, but when his gaze travels down, he sees the small form of Tony Stark, teary-eyed and frightened. In that moment, Jarvis's remaining anger evaporates. He picks the little boy up and carries him into his rooms, sitting on his flowered sofa and keeping his charge on his knee.

"I thought I sent someone to his room," he says, not very crossly.

"I came to say sorry," says Tony, hanging his head.

"Quite right, too," Jarvis answers. "What on earth were you thinking?"

Tony opens his hand and reveals a few crumpled dollar bills. "I saved up my allowance. I was going to take the train to see my parents."

The butler cards a hand through the little boy's hair. "You'd have had to go a sight further than that money would take you," he says gravely.

"Are you still mad?" Tony asks softly.

Jarvis wraps an arm around the little boy's middle, pulling him closer. "No more crying," he says. "I wasn't angry, really, just worried. What would I do if I lost you?"

The little boy turns around in his grasp and faces him. "You'd be happy like my parents are. They get to do everything they want because they don't have to worry about me."

The butler blinks. This is worse than the running away. He doesn't know what to say. He clears his throat. "If I lost you," he finally answers, "I don't think I'd ever be all right." In an instant, the greater part of the little boy's sadness leaves, and relief fills his face.

"Come," says the butler, standing and picking up the child again. He takes Tony into his own small kitchen and sets him on top of the tiny square table. Jarvis takes out two mugs, cocoa powder, and a bottle of milk. He puts a pan on the stove and sets the milk to simmer.

He turns back to the little boy. "Jarvis," Tony says, "I was scared out there—it was really dark. I wish I wasn't scared of anything, like you."

The butler picks the little boy back up and settles him against his shoulder. "Tony, I'm going to tell you a secret, and I want you to remember it, all right?" He feels the small head nod. "Adults get just as scared as you do, sometimes much more."

"Why?" asks the child, sounding surprised and curious. "What do you get scared of?"

"Mostly, I get scared of losing the people I love, like I was tonight," Jarvis says, stirring cocoa into milk with his free hand.

"Oh," the little boy answers softly, then falls silent.

After his mixture turns a nice shade of smooth brown, Jarvis pours it into the two mugs., adding a pinch of sugar to each. He puts the child down and hands one to him, keeping the other and sitting down at the table. Tony sits opposite him, smiling when he takes his first sip.

"Master Tony," says the butler, rubbing his tired eyes, "I need you to promise me that you'll never run away again."

The little boy stares down at his drink. "I promise."

"Gentlemen keep their word," Jarvis reiterates. Tony nods and looks up, and the Englishman smiles at him.

\--

"I'm home, JARVIS," says Tony Stark, loosening his tie.

"Good evening, Sir. How may I assist you?" asks his invariably polite AI.

"Hot cocoa," answers the tired man.

"I'll have it ready for you in three and a half minutes," JARVIS says brightly.

Tony goes to the kitchen and sits down at his large table, surrounded by gleaming, automated appliances. Everything is exactly how he likes it, but he feels a wave of nostalgia for a tiny, cramped 1940s-style kitchen with an old-fashioned stove.

In the end, he wasn't the one who'd run away from the butler; the butler had left him, taken by time. "JARVIS," he says, "who is your prototype?"

"My prototype is Edwin Jarvis," the computer answers, "veteran, assistant to Agent Peggy Carter, husband, and butler."

"And father," Tony says softly, and he smiles.


	5. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He just wants to make her stay, to keep her with him instead of letting her go away with the distant man who always seems to be taking her when the little boy wants her most.

Tony Stark hugs his mother around the waist, not paying much attention to the conversation going on between her and his butler outside his father's Rolls Royce. He just wants to make her stay, to keep her with him instead of letting her go away with the distant man who always seems to be taking her when the little boy wants her most.

"You'll take care of Tony?" he hears her voice say.

"Of course," answers Jarvis.

"I'm sorry to call on you again," she adds, "so soon."

"It's no trouble," is the rejoinder.

"You know—how Howard gets," Maria says, lowering her voice to a whisper, though the little boy can still hear her. "If I send him off on his own with the car, I'm afraid—."

"Please don't trouble yourself," Jarvis replies kindly.

With that, Tony finds himself lifted up onto his mother's hip. She kisses his nose, and he smells her Chanel perfume. "I'm sorry to leave you, darling," she says, "but Mr. Jarvis will take care of you." She sets him back on his feet. "Promise me you'll be a good boy."

"No," Tony answers, balling up his fists by his sides. He doesn't want her to leave. He's angry at her for going and angry at his father for taking her.

"Master Tony!" Jarvis's tone carries deep disapproval.

"Maria, we need to get on the road." The tense atmosphere is sliced through by the voice of Howard from the driver's seat of the car, beckoning his wife to her place inside. She turns to go, but the little boy sees tears on her face just before she walks away. That's worse than the leaving, much worse. He's never made his mother cry before.

As the sound of the car's engine grows softer in the distance, Tony feels his own tears build up and spill over. He rubs at his eyes with his hands, but he can't stop crying.

He's almost forgotten Jarvis is there, but just then, the butler kneels down in front him in the grass, wrapping him in an all-encompassing embrace. "It's all right to cry," he says softly. For the first time ever, Tony pushes away, feeling sudden anger coming from somewhere he doesn't understand. He runs toward the house, not looking back. He's miserable, his fury at his parents mixed in equal measure with his horror at his mother's tears and his anger at himself for causing them.

The problem is, Tony is a very little boy, and small boys can't run very fast. Before he reaches the door, his butler catches up to him. It's a day of firsts. The child has never been afraid of Jarvis before, but he is now. The butler puts a big hand on his arm, and Tony looks up, scared of seeing anger on the face of the one person he knows whose anger he's never seen.

Instead, he only finds concern in Jarvis's green eyes. The hand that isn't holding his arm offers a handkerchief, and the little boy takes it, wiping his soaked face. By the time he's finished, he feels calmer, and the butler lets go of him to curl an arm around his shoulders. "Let's go inside," he says quietly.

Later that day, when it's almost bedtime and Tony is tired of distracting himself with books and puzzles, he goes in search of Jarvis. He finds the man in his laundry room, the place where his sewing and other small tasks are performed. The butler looks up and smiles as soon as the little boy enters, putting down the pair of socks he's darning.

Tony goes to him and climbs into his lap, needing the closeness. "Jarvis," he asks, "will my mother forgive me?"

"Let me ask you something," the butler replies. "Do you forgive her when she has to go away, even when it makes you mad at first?" Tony nods, playing with Jarvis's shirt buttons and growing peaceful and a little bit drowsy in the man's arms.

"Well," says the butler, "she loves you just as much as you love her, so what do you think?"

Tony shakes his head sadly. "It's not the same, Jarvis. I made her cry. And—she has to go. I know it's not her fault." He does know, and that's the worst part. It's been eating him up all afternoon.

"Well then," Jarvis answers, "I know she's already forgiven you, and you'll have to take my word for it."

"How do you know?" Tony turns intense eyes toward his butler's face, but Jarvis just smiles.

"I know because when you ran away from me today, it took me about five seconds to forgive you, and your mother loves you far more than I do." Contented, Tony smiles back and settles once again with his head pillowed on the older man's chest.

He doesn't think it's really possible that anyone loves him more than Jarvis does.

\---

He could have called an international press conference. Usually, he would have. Tony Stark is well known for his displays of ego and excess.

This time, he and Pepper Potts are the only ones around to see the unveiling of his new invention, an AI system that could revolutionize the way the whole world does household tasks.

"Why did you choose JARVIS?" his assistant asks.

Tony smiles. "JARVIS, tell Miss Potts why I picked your name."

The computer begins politely. "Miss Potts, Mr. Stark chose me to be the avatar of the person he loved most in the world when he was a child."

"Drat!" Tony says. "He was supposed to give you a factual history of our butler's life, not tell you that. There must be a glitch."

Pepper smiles. "He gave me the kind of answer I prefer. Maybe he's smarter than you think."

Her boss blushes, dipping his head in embarrassment before saying quickly. "I—hope Jarvis knew how I felt."

"No doubt," she answers. "You're not that good at hiding your feelings." She laughs, and he can't help joining her.


	6. Passover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony grins. “Maximum enjoyment” isn’t quite to happiness, but he’s working on it.

“Why is this night different from all other nights?” 

Tony Stark’s young voice rings out high and sweet in the candlelit dining room of the Jarvis suite.The butler smiles at him from across the table, a deep sense of peace settling into him at the commencement of another Passover meal.

Papers rustle, and Peggy and the butler bring their scripts up to their eyes. Anna Jarvis knows the word by heart.

“We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, and God brought us out with a strong hand and an outstretched arm. And if God had not brought our ancestors out of Egypt, we and our children and our children’s children would still be subjugated to Pharaoh in Egypt. Even if we were all old and wise and learned in Torah, we would still be commanded to tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt. And the more we talk about the Exodus from Egypt, the more praiseworthy  
we are.”

Smiles are exchanged all around, and it’s Tony’s turn again. “What does this Passover service mean to you?”

Jarvis laughs suddenly as his wife smacks him lightly on the arm. He’s given the boy the question traditionally reserved for the Wicked Child. 

Anna answers, through giggles, “It is because of what God did for me when I came out of Egypt. Specifically ‘me’ and not ‘you.’ If you had been there (with your attitude), you wouldn’t have been redeemed.” Tony smirks at her, and she shakes her head at his saucy expression. 

It’s Jarvis’s turn, and he clears his throat and begins, “While the Jews endured harsh slavery in Egypt, God chose Moses to lead them out to freedom. Moses encountered God at the burning bush and then returned to Egypt to lead the people out of Egypt. He demanded that Pharaoh let the Jewish people go. But Pharaoh hardened his heart and refused to let the Jewish people go. That is why God sent the Ten Plagues.” 

The plagues are recited by all, and finally, Anna softly sings the Hebrew song that celebrates the miracles of her people’s escape from slavery. Her voice is soft, but pretty, and the butler closes his eyes and listens. He does not understand the words, but he mentally recites his own blessings, expressing thanks for the woman sitting next to him, whose very life is a miracle. 

The meal is filled with both ceremony and laughter, a bit like Anna herself. Jarvis remembers seeing her through a glass window for the very first time and knowing that he would never marry anyone else. He recalls looking at her through another pane of glass, the one in the airplane that took him far from her. And he remembers seeing her through the front window of the Stark mansion, his eyes blurred with tears, the night Howard brought her home. He reaches over and touches her face with one finger, tracing her cheekbone. She’s telling Peggy a story from her childhood in Budapest, but she smiles at her husband and covers his hand with her much smaller one. 

When it’s all over, Peggy thanks her host and hostess and shakes hands with Tony like he’s his father’s age, which makes him grin. “Good night, Chief,” she says briskly. “Don’t give Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis any trouble.”  
“He never does,” says Anna mildly, patting his back. From behind her, Jarvis’s eyebrow is decidedly raised. 

“I’ll do the dishes,” says the butler once Peggy is gone, bending down to embrace his diminutive wife. He goes to the kitchen and turns on the sink, but he’s still able to hear the murmur of voices in the living room.

“Mrs. Jarvis, why do you like Passover so much? You do it every year.” Tony’s voice is curious. 

“Up you come,” returns Anna’s voice, followed by the sound of somebody being hoisted onto somebody else’s lap.

“Darling, do you remember how I came here?” Anna asks.

“Uh huh,” Tony rejoins. “My dad went in a plane and rescued you from hungry,” he says.

“Hun-ga-ry,” the butler’s wife answers. “That’s right. Do you know why?”

“Not really,” the little boy admits.

“Well,” Anna continues, “there was a very bad man, like Pharaoh in the Passover story. He did very bad things to Jewish people like me. I would have di—I mean, I wouldn’t be here if Edwin and your father hadn’t helped me escape.”

“Like the people in the story!” Tony sounds excited now.

“Yes, a little like that,” Anna’s voice replies. “Sometimes, when I was running away, it seemed as miraculous as walking through water. That’s why I like Passover so much. It reminds me that my people had to escape, too, and that they lost people they loved, like I did.”

“Who did you lose?” The little boy’s voice is nearly a whisper, and Jarvis has to concentrate hard to understand it.

“My father,” Anna replies. “The bad man got him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, sweetheart. I have Edwin, and I have you, and many friends here. I am very happy.” Jarvis smiles through the sting of tears. 

When he’s finished with the kitchen, the butler goes to the living room and finds his wife silent and smiling with a sleeping Tony in her arms. “I’ll take him to bed,” he whispers, opening his arms. Anna nods and offers him a kiss.

The little boy stirs when Jarvis places him on his bed, opening his eyes and staring intently at his butler. “Jarvis, Mrs. Jarvis said she was happy.”

“Yes,” the man agrees, smoothing the blankets around the child.

“I don’t think my mother is happy,” Tony continues.

“Oh?” Jarvis says, listening quietly.

The boy turns over to fall asleep but finishes with one last comment. “When I get married, my wife will be happy like Mrs. Jarvis.”

—

Tony Stark unfolds the red and white checkered cloth and spreads it lovingly on the grass in front of his house. He opens the giant wicker basket beside him and takes out summer sausage, a vegetable tray, a baguette from the best French bakery in town, and all manner of other delicacies, arranging them around him. 

“Jarvis,” he says to his wristwatch, “have I missed anything?”

“No, Sir,” the AI answers, “you have perfectly created a meal calculated to provide maximum enjoyment for Miss Potts.”

Tony grins. “Maximum enjoyment” isn’t quite to happiness, but he’s working on it.


	7. Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The child hangs his head and stares at the floor. He's a good liar, sometimes, but it's impossible to lie to Jarvis. He can see through people like they're made of glass themselves.

Tony Stark stands outside the Jarvises' suite, balancing on the balls of his feet as quietly as he can, listening through the crack in the door.

"I don't know, Anna," says his butler's voice. "It's one thing to take care of Tony; it's another thing to agree to be his permanent guardians."

"Why are you so hesitant?" his wife asks in her accented English.

"Honestly, Anna, normally this would be a formality—signing over guardianship to the butler in case of an emergency. A gesture of trust and good faith. But—it's different with the Starks."

"What do you mean?"

The little boy peeks in with one eye and sees that Anna Jarvis is embracing her husband with all the force of her tiny frame.

"I mean, Howard Stark has a lot of enemies, and he and Maria live fast lives. They're not careful. It's hard to imagine them living to old age in comfortable retirement," says Jarvis slowly. "I hope—nothing happens to them, but we have to be realistic, darling. We could end up as Tony's parents."

"Why are you so worried?" Anna asks, so softly Tony has to strain to hear. "We both love him, and we've known for a long time that he was more of your job than anything else."

The small boy puts his hands over his ears and runs away. He doesn't want to hear the rest of it. Of course Jarvis wouldn't want him. Why would he? His own parents don't have time for him, and he's not even related to the butler and his wife. He wishes he hadn't eavesdropped on his dad and found out about the will at all.

Tony goes into the room Jarvis is helping him to convert into his own laboratory and slams the door. He takes the test tubes from the pristine chemistry set his parents bought him for Christmas and starts throwing them at the wall one by one, taking savage pleasure in the sound of the glass shattering. Some of the shards hit him and cut his hands. He doesn't care.

Finally, he sits down with his back against the wall and cries. He hates crying, and he's sure he's getting too old for it. But he can't help himself.

The tears come until they finally stop, and he sits with his chin propped on his knees, possessing bloody hands and a feeling of uncomfortable apathy. Maybe, he thinks, he can stay here forever.

All too soon, however, a polite knock sounds at the laboratory door. "Master Tony, may I come in? I have something to discuss with you." Jarvis's voice is as kind as ever, but the boy doesn't want to hear it. He looks around and realizes he can't escape. There's broken glass everywhere, it's his fault, and he can't explain why, or the butler will know he was eavesdropping.

He's still pondering his predicament when the door opens and Jarvis enters, not above barging in where little boys are concerned. His gaze travels around the room, and then he kneels down in front of Tony. "Are you hurt?" He's calm, but he looks worried.

"No—I just got some little cuts on my hands," he says quickly.

"Come with me," Jarvis answers. "We need to get you out of this glass and cleaned up."

Tony is thankful for the respite, but he knows he's going to have to explain at some point. He follows the butler back to the Jarvis suite. Anna is gone, and Jarvis picks him up and sets him on the counter by the kitchen sink.

"You're getting bigger," he says pleasantly. "Not as easy for me to pick up as you used to be."

He washes and bandages Tony's hands gently, then takes off his glass-covered shoes and scans him for any more shards. Satisfied, he sets the little boy back on the floor and turns to him. "Now, what happened? I can tell that wasn't an accident. Far too many broken things." The child hangs his head and stares at the floor. He's a good liar, sometimes, but it's impossible to lie to Jarvis. He can see through people like they're made of glass themselves.

"What got you upset enough to destroy your things? That's not like you at all," Jarvis supplies, obviously trying to help him along.

"Wh—what did you want to talk to me about?" Tony asks, desperately trying to buy himself some time by changing the subject.

The butler shakes his head. "You won't get out of telling me, you know, but I'll let you stall. I came to ask you something." Jarvis puts his arm around him and leads him to the kitchen table. They sit down opposite one another, and Jarvis shows the boy an official-looking paper. Tony stares at it, not sure what it is.

"This is from your parents' will," the butler says. "I—they asked me to sign this. It would make me your guardian if anything ever happened to them." Tony's stomach clenches.

"I wanted very much to sign it," the butler says, "but I had one doubt that I had to fix first." The older man leans over and puts a hand on the little boy's shoulder. "Tony, do you want me to sign this? You're getting older, and I believe you should have a say. I know Anna and I are not your family, and if you say no, I'll tell your father I'm declining. He'll never know the reason if you don't want him to."

"You want to sign it?" Tony's voice is barely audible.

"Of course," Jarvis answers, finally smiling. "Anna and I love you like you're ours. I can't imagine ever giving you up to someone else to take care of—but if you want that, it's your call."

The boy blinks as his eyes fill with tears again. "But you weren't sure. You said it would be different to be my permanent guardian." Too late, Tony realizes he's betrayed himself, and he falls silent, his face flushing.

Jarvis looks surprised for a second, then gets a knowing look in his eyes. "Someone was listening where he wasn't meant to be," he says, "and I think perhaps he heard things he didn't understand. Is that right?"

The boy wipes his eyes forcefully. "I'm sorry, Jarvis. I'm really sorry. I heard my dad talking to you, and then I wanted to know what you were going to decide, and then—I thought you didn't want me."

The butler clears his throat. "I forgive you. It was understandable, but extremely naughty. You're going to help me clean up the mess, and then you're going to bed an hour early to contemplate the virtues of respecting privacy and not taking your anger out on inanimate objects."

Ten minutes later, butler and master are back in the laboratory with plastic bags over their shoes and gloves on, picking up shards of glass. "You haven't given me your answer yet," Jarvis says, holding open a garbage bag for Tony.

Jarvis doesn't seem angry; in fact, the little boy enjoys doing the work alongside him, like they're partners. He looks up through long, dark lashes into his butler's face. "You want me even though I broke things and spied on you and Mrs. Jarvis?"

"Anthony Stark," says Jarvis, setting down his bag and drilling Tony with his eyes, "haven't we been over this? There's not a single thing you could do that would make me stop wanting you. Not anything at all." After a moment, he slyly adds, "You have to decide if you want a guardian who makes you clean up after yourself and go to bed early when you deserve it."

Glass crunching under his feet, the little boy crosses the small space between them and wraps his arms around Jarvis's middle, pressing his head into the butler's chest. "Thank you," he says.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," Jarvis answers, smiling down at him gently.

\---

It's not the first time Pepper Potts has left the office in the middle of a fight with Tony, but for some reason, this time hurts more than usual. What she doesn't know, can't know, is how much he needs her approval.

Everyone in Tony's life wants him for his money or his fame or his intelligence. Pepper is the one person who likes him, he's pretty sure, just because he's him. That's why it hurts when she storms out, even though he knows he deserves it.

He drives home with heavy metal blaring, but his mood doesn't improve. As soon as he gets to his house, he goes to his lab and sits down at his desk. "JARVIS," he says, "get me a mug of coffee." He doesn't want coffee. He fully intends to throw the mug at the wall, then watch it shatter into a million pieces.

Only, when he finally has the drink in hand, he just looks at it, remembering Edwin Jarvis and his gentle lessons on self control. He also remembers spending an hour cleaning glass off the floor of his first laboratory.

After a moment, he gets up and goes to a tiny filing cabinet underneath a work table. No one but him knows it's there, and it's the place he keeps his last remaining paper records. Everything else is computerized. He opens the third drawer down and pulls out a brittle folder, opening it to reveal yellowed pages.

In the event that I, Howard Stark, or I, Maria Stark, should be killed or incapacitated, we give our son, Anthony Stark, to the full care of Edwin Jarvis and Anna Jarvis.

Underneath are four signatures. Tony runs his finger over the butler's elegant script, looping letters that proved he'd been wanted. He feels comfort fill him at the memory of that day. It hadn't mattered that he'd been sent to bed early. Jarvis had read to him and tucked him in, and he'd fallen asleep, exhausted from his emotional outpouring, but deeply soothed by the assurance, from the person he trusted most in the world, that he could never be unwanted.

"Call from Miss Potts, Sir," says JARVIS, breaking into his thoughts.

"I'm sorry," he says, as soon as her picture appears.

"Me too," Pepper answers, smiling at him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Tomorrow. That was the last thing Jarvis had said to him on that special night. "Remember, Master Tony, tomorrow is a fresh day. We can all do better."

He'll do better, he promises himself, just like Jarvis had always believed he could.


	8. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jarvis has doubts about his ability to help Tony Stark realize his talents.

Hope  
Jarvis packs Tony’s suitcase amidst the sound of yells that fills the halls of the Stark house. He’s relieved that the boy is in his laboratory, which is nearly soundproof, working on one of his inventions. The butler knows very little about how inventing is done, but he’s known Howard Stark long enough to recognize that Tony is a genius. In time, he’ll be as skilled as his father, perhaps more so.  
“Here are the shirts, darling,” says Anna, handing him a stack of perfectly-folded garments. He smiles as he places them into Tony’s square suitcase.  
“We can leave within the hour,” Jarvis says. “It’s a pity the laboratory at the summer house is so limited. If Mr. Stark was ever there, it would be refurbished, but as it is, Tony outgrew it ages ago.”  
“It will be good for him to be outside,” says his wife, “acting like other children.”  
“He’s not like other children,” Jarvis answers. “That’s why—”   
“Hmm?” Anna stops her task of taking the boy’s trousers off closet hangers and looks at him.  
“That’s why I wonder if it’s right for him to spend so much time with us. His parents are the ones who can direct his scientific endeavors. I know it’s not perfect with them, but I’m afraid of keeping him from his full potential.” He brushes a hair away from his forehead absently.  
His wife stands on tiptoe and kisses his cheek. “Sometimes you’re very blind, Edwin Jarvis.” He laughs and goes for her perfectly red lips.  
\--  
Morning in the summer house is always breathtaking. A wall of picture windows looks out toward the glistening seaside, and the sun’s rays gradually filter into the white-carpeted rooms.   
It’s been three days since the arrival of the butler, his wife, and the little boy. Jarvis is in the kitchen, clad in his dressing gown, making toast and eggs and humming to himself. His wife, who enjoys early mornings, is out walking along the beach, absorbing the sunshine and tangy salt air.  
“Good morning, Jarvis.” The butler looks behind him and finds his charge in the doorway, rubbing sleepy eyes and grinning.   
“You look happy,” says the butler, flipping a sunny-side-up egg without breaking the yolk.   
“I like it here,” Tony answers. “There’s nobody fighting.”  
“You don’t miss your lab?” Jarvis uses the pretext of checking the toast to escape watching the boy when he asks this.  
“No,” says Tony immediately. “The lab stays however I leave it, but here is—alive.” The butler does look at him then, and he sees the child wave his arms with a flourish as he intones the last word.  
The youngest Stark goes silent, and Jarvis goes back to preparing breakfast. He doesn’t mind Tony’s presence. There’s a companionable quality to it. Sometimes he dreams of what might have been if he and Anna had been able to have their own children, but surely it couldn’t have felt any better than the satisfying feeling he has when the boy is near.   
“Jarvis?” It’s common for Tony to go long periods of time without speaking, then to ask a question, usually something difficult to answer.  
“Hmm?” The butler takes three plates out of the cupboard and places them onto the small kitchen table.   
“Do you think I’m good at making things—like my dad?” Tony doesn’t look up, instead fiddling with the drawstring on his pajama bottoms.  
“Of course,” Jarvis answers, wondering, as he often does, where the conversation is tending. It’s impossible to tell when it comes to Tony.   
“He said—the other day he said I was going to grow up to be like him and make weapons for the government,” Tony finally gets out, in a halting voice.  
The butler almost rolls his eyes. It’s always like that with Howard Stark. When he does actually pay attention to his fragile offspring, it’s usually to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. But it won’t do any good for Jarvis to make his opinion known. “Yes?” he says noncommittally.   
“I don’t want to do that!” the boy says heatedly, his mood erupting. “I want—I want to help people, like you do. I don’t want to invent things.”  
“Master Tony,” says Jarvis gently (it’s always best to be gentle with him when he’s in these moods), “you’re far cleverer than I’ve ever thought of being.” He crosses the small kitchen and puts an arm around the slight child.  
“There are many ways to help people, and you have a gift—the ability to make things that could help hundreds and thousands of people some day. Don’t give that up.” Tony doesn’t answer. He just stares at Jarvis with his wide eyes that understand too much.  
\--  
Later in the day, Jarvis is washing dishes when Anna comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. “Mm,” she says. “So tall,” pressing her head into his back.  
“More comfortable this way,” he mumbles, wiping his hands and turning around to hold her frontways. “What did I do to deserve this, or are you simply affected by the summer atmosphere?”  
She laughs her high, musical laugh. “I’m proud of you for getting un-blind.” He doesn’t know what she means. Even after years in America, she occasionally mixes up English words.   
“I see you’re confused,” she says.  
Without warning, Jarvis picks her up and sets her onto the kitchen counter next to the sink, her short legs swinging above the floor. “There, unconfuse me while I finish the dishes,” he says.  
Anna lets out a shriek that turns into a giggle. “Very well, you impossible man. What I mean is, you got beyond that nonsense about Tony being at a disadvantage with us.”  
“Ah,” the butler remembers their earlier conversation during the trip preparations. “I suppose I did. It’s bad enough when Howard’s drunk, but I sometimes think it’s worse when he isn’t. I realized—it’s better this way.”  
“I’ve always been more pragmatic than you are,” his wife answers. “It’s sad that Tony has the family he has, but you must see that he looks up to you like a father. It’s obvious. And it’s better for him.”  
“I don’t know about that,” Jarvis hedges, “but I like you thinking so.” He sets the last dish to the side to dry and grins in Anna’s direction.   
“I know so,” she reiterates. “He will grow up to help people because of you.” He can see she’s dead serious.  
“I hope so,” he agrees, lifting his wife’s tiny frame into his arms and swinging her around before her feet meet the ground again.   
\---------------------------------------------------  
Tony Stark finishes his press conference and walks away with his usual swagger, nodding to his particular friends in the press corps and not turning off his megawatt smile until he’s back in Stark Tower, protected by several layers of security.  
“That was excellent,” says Pepper, entering a few minutes behind him, her high heels clacking against the floor. Speaking of excellent, she looks like a magazine cover, with her auburn hair clipped back and her perfectly tailored skirt suit. Tony just admires her for a moment, still not comprehending how anyone can be that smart and that beautiful at the same time.  
“Well,” she continues, “the rest of the world is looking at the future of robotic surgery, thanks to you. I still don’t know why you waited over a month to announce it, though.”  
“Present for a friend,” Tony answers. “JARVIS,” he calls out.  
“At your service, Sir,” says his undoubtedly charming AI.  
“Show Miss Potts what today is.”  
All of a sudden, one of the many screens installed in the house pops up, and a grainy, sound-free home video starts to play. It’s of three people on the beach, sitting on a huge towel, eating cake out of a picnic hamper. One by one, they wave to the camera—a small, dark-haired boy, a grinning woman in a giant sunhat, and a thin man with kind eyes.  
“This is the birthday of Edwin Jarvis, my prototype,” says the AI, providing commentary since there isn’t one.  
Tony feels Pepper’s eyes on him, and he smiles at her. “This is why I named the device Anna. That was his wife’s name, and he loved her more than anyone in the whole world. He always said I could do something good with my talents—help people instead of hurting them. It took me a long time to get there, but I hope he’d be proud.”  
“You have unexpected depths, Tony Stark.” From some people, that would be sarcasm, but he can tell that Pepper is 100% serious. He bites back his impulse to make a lighthearted c omeback and instead falls silent, enjoying the feeling of her approval.


	9. Disappointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a scientist, after all, and scientists do empirical experiments. The result he’s discovered today is that he hates disappointing Edwin Jarvis more than almost anything in the world.

“Aren’t you going to tell me that ‘gentlemen study hard’?” Tony asks sarcastically. He’s seated at the Jarvises’ kitchen table, and the butler is across from him with a telltale paper in his hand.

“That, Master Tony, was uncalled-for,” says Jarvis, raising an eyebrow at his impertinence. You wouldn’t think it, but the boy is caught up short by that eyebrow and the quiet steel in the butler’s soft voice, more than he would be by an entire afternoon of Howard Stark’s yelling. 

He feels his face flush, but he doesn’t apologize. “It’s not like I’m not passing.” His voice is sullen.

“When last I checked,” Jarvis retorts, “the standard of behavior in this house was trying one’s best, not scraping by with the minimum.”

The boy rolls his eyes. “What’s my punishment? Let’s get it over with.”

The butler looks up from his perusal of Tony’s report card. “Letting oneself down is its own punishment. You can go.”

There’s a strange feeling in the pit of the boy’s stomach as he leaves the suite. He’d known Jarvis wouldn’t be pleased with his grades, but he hadn’t expected to be let off so easily. He wants to feel relieved, but there’s doubt at the edges of his mind. No one would call his butler strict, but he’s consistent. Actions have consequences. Tony doesn’t like the feeling of disappointment left hanging. Being twelve is complicated. He wants to be tough, to feel like he’s gotten away with something, but he’d rather have taken a punishment than to live with the disappointed look on Jarvis’s face.

Later that day, when it’s almost time for bed, Tony takes another piece of paper off his desk and goes to the other side of the house, ending his journey at the door of the Jarvises’ rooms. He knocks one time; the butler answers. Wordlessly, the boy hands him the paper, which is meticulously written in his best handwriting.

“What’s this?” Jarvis reads slowly and carefully, obviously taking in every word. When he’s finished, he looks down and meets the boy’s eyes.

“It’s a contract,” Tony explains. “It says I’m going to do my best from now on, and I signed it, like—a gentleman.” 

“Very official,” the older man replies. To the boy’s relief, he smiles. “Go get ready bed, Master Tony. I’ll be in to check on you in a moment. Tomorrow is a new day to prove that you mean this.” He sends his charge off with a reassuring pat on the back. 

The boy does mean it. He’s a scientist, after all, and scientists do empirical experiments. The result he’s discovered today is that he hates disappointing Edwin Jarvis more than almost anything in the world. 

\--

“What’s this?” Pepper Potts sits down beside Tony on his office sofa and hands him a cassette. 

“Oh,” he answers, “sentimental. A long time ago, I recorded Anna Jarvis telling a story. It’s digital now, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the tape. JARVIS, play recording 1134 for Miss Potts.”

The familiar, crackly recording begins, and a voice with a European accent is heard:

Tony, are you sure Edwin won’t be home for a while? I don’t want him to know I’m telling you this. Oh, all right, you already know the story. You had just turned twelve, and you brought home a report card with straight-Cs. Your parents were in Prague, and they didn’t want to be disturbed by anything that wasn’t life and death. I thought Edwin should come down hard, take away your allowance or something. But he always knew you better than I did.

He had it out with you, and I asked him what he’d done about it. He just grinned and said, “Nothing, Anna. Nothing at all.” I stared at him like he suddenly had three heads. 

“But he looked like he was going to vomit on his way out of here,” I answered. You did, too, as white as a sheet.

“I know,” answered my husband. “That’s why I’m pleased.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” I tried again. 

“He’s too young to really understand responsibility, but my disappointment—it’s still enough, Anna. It’s still enough.” That’s all he said. That night, you came to our suite with your contract. Edwin still has it, you know. It’s folded up in his copy of Ibsen’s plays.

There, that’s the story, sweetheart. Do you want me to do it again, better for the recording? No? All right. 

There’s a click, and all is silent. 

Tony feels Pepper’s eyes on him for a long moment; then she puts out a hand and briefly touches his cheek. He catches her   
fingers and wraps both of his hands around them. He’s allowed to do that now. 

“Why Ibsen’s plays?” she asks softly, and he can feel the sweet imprint of all the words she leaves unsaid.

“It was Anna’s book,” he answers. “She gave it to him during the war, before they were married.”

“How romantic,” Pepper replies. “I wish I’d known them.”

“Me too.” Tony turns to her then and pulls her face close to his own, kissing her slowly and softly. There’s time—no need to rush. 

After a while, she finally pulls away to breathe. “Thank you for playing that for me. It helps me understand you.”

“How so?”

“You still hate disappointing people you love more than anything else.” He nods, resisting the impulse to look away and hide his vulnerability. Sometimes it’s hard to be known.

“I’ve disappointed you more than a few times,” he finally dares to say.

Pepper reaches over and wraps her arms around him, holding him against her, with his head on her shoulder, the way he likes. “Tony, you can disappoint me a thousand times in what you do, but you’ll never disappoint me with who you are.”  
He sighs, contented.


	10. Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ides of March changes the lives of Tony Stark and his butler forever.

It's the Ides of March. Jarvis is seated in the Browning Theater, holding his wife's hand, totally engrossed in Julius Caesar. They see it every year on the Ides, the day of Caesar's death. It's a tradition. Anna looks radiant, and her husband wonders where the years have gone. He's gained wrinkles around his mouth and gray hair at his temples, but she looks exactly like she did the day she married him in a tiny Hungarian synagogue.

"Mr. Jarvis!" The insistent whisper breaks in on his blissful thoughts, and the butler looks up to find an usher motioning him outside. He follows, sensing that something is very wrong. His knuckles turn white from the force with which he clenches his fists, but he doesn't realize it.

"I'm—I have bad news." The policeman in the lobby is young, and he looks like he hasn't had to deliver many of these kinds of unwelcome messages. Jarvis's brain doesn't have time to register all the possibilities before the words crash in on him: "Howard and Maria Stark passed away in an automobile accident this afternoon."

Edwin can hardly breathe. Behind him, he hears a sharply-articulated Hebrew curseword, and he realizes that Anna has followed him out of the crowded theater. With effort, he forces himself to remember his training. It's been years since his days with Peggy Carter and even longer since his time in the army, but he breathes deeply and centers his thoughts on what must happen.

"Thank you for informing me. Mr. Stark entrusted me with a list of steps to be taken if such an eventuality occurred, but Master Tony is the first priority." He turns to his wife. "Anna, I'll go to him."

She nods, tears gleaming in her eyes. "I'll stay and begin the funeral arrangements." Edwin kisses his wife and starts toward the door, and as he does, he realizes that his entire life has changed.

\---

Tony Stark is sound asleep in the dormitory of his preparatory school when Mr. Danvers, the housemaster, rouses him with a tap on the shoulder. The boy opens his eyes and swears. He hates Mr. Danvers.

"What do you want?"

"You have a visitor," says the man patiently. He doesn't get angry like he normally would, and Tony can't understand why.

"Who?" he asks, getting up and slipping his feet into his slippers.

"Mr. Jarvis," comes the answer, "your butler."

"Is he alone?"

"Yes."

The boy's heart starts to race, and he feels like he can hear his own blood moving through his body. There is no reason for Edwin Jarvis to be here alone at three in the morning, no reason except one.

"What happened?" He doesn't even need to ask. As soon as he sees Jarvis's eyes, he knows.

The butler's words only confirm the obvious. "You parents were involved in an automobile accident, Master Tony. They—they didn't make it. I'm so sorry." Tony sits down on the uncomfortable flowered sofa in the dormitory lobby, and Jarvis takes his place in the wing chair opposite. Mr. Danvers leaves them alone.

Tony Stark asks no questions. Those will come later. For now, he sits and stares at the carpet and counts the number of little squares in the green and brown pattern. He feels numb; he never knew before that numbness could hurt. After a few moments of blank, thick silence, Jarvis reaches over and grasps Tony's forearm. The boy doesn't react or say anything, but the touch is like a lifeline in the open sea.

"Master Tony, I've come to bring you home."

\---

Jarvis drives back to the Stark mansion through the night. A plane would have been faster, but he wants to give his charge a few hours to compose himself before they both have to face the inevitable onslaught of people and tasks.

Tony doesn't speak until the third hour. "Did they suffer?" His voice is flat.

"No," the butler answers, relieved that he can honestly deny it. "It was instant, and," he turns his head to catch the boy's eyes, "it wasn't because your father was drunk. They don't know what happened. The police are investigating the car to find out if something malfunctioned."

"Ok," Tony answers.

"And," says Jarvis, clearing his throat to deliver the short but difficult speech he'd conjured up on his way to the school, " you'll never be alone. I'm—Anna and I are your guardians. I want you to remember that."

"So no different from usual, then," the boy replies with a short, sharp, unhappy laugh. "They were never there for me anyway. Now I can stop pretending they ever will be." There are plenty of things Jarvis want's to answer, but he doesn't say any of them. It's not the right time. The boy falls silent again, and they reach home just before dawn breaks.

As soon as they pull into the long driveway, Jarvis sees his wife, still wearing her theater dress from the night before, with her hair unpinned and her feet bare. Even from a distance, she looks tired and haggard, but she tries to smile.

"Oh, Tony," she says when they disembark, opening her arms and attempting to pull the boy in for a hug. Usually, he's unfailingly kind to Anna, but this time, he pushes past her and goes inside.

Jarvis hugs her instead, relishing a moment of comfort as her head presses against his chest. "I'm sorry, Darling. He's—"

"I understand," she murmurs quickly. "Remember, I lost my father."

"Of course," he answers, pulling away to pick up Tony's luggage and carry it inside.

\---

When it's light outside, Tony finally falls asleep on top of his bedspread, with his slippers on. He's bone-weary, and when he wakes up, he doesn't feel any better. Mechanically, he dresses himself and combs his hair before making his way down the hall to the main part of the house.

The whole house seems to be filled with men in suits, filling out papers and asking questions of the staff. After a moment, he locates Jarvis in the crowd, and the butler comes over and takes his arm. "Come with me," he says. "Let's get some food in you."

"I don't want anything," Tony says, when they finally reach the calm oasis of the empty kitchen.

Jarvis takes a long look at him. "As your guardian, I'm making an executive decision. I don't want you to worry about all these details. I can handle them, and if i need your signature on anything, I'll prepare it and give it to you all at once this evening. Anna's going to take you to the lake."

Tony shakes his head vehemently. "My father—he would want me to be here and look over things."

Jarvis looks him in the eye. "You're not staying here, Anthony Stark."

Anger runs through Tony like a lightning strike. "You can't tell me what to do. My parents are dead, and this is my house now." His voice is raised; he doesn't care.

The butler rubs his red, tired eyes with the back of his hand. "Master Tony, I wish I had the time to talk this out with you right now, but I don't. As your guardian, I'm ordering you to leave, and I will enforce my decision."

The boy considers the feasibility of defying Jarvis, but the butler doesn't seem to be in a compromising mood, and Tony doesn't want to be bodily dragged out of the house. Jarvis still has a number of inches on him and a war record of doing things Tony isn't entirely sure about. He doesn't want to test the man's resolve.

"Fine," he spits out sullenly. "So glad you're my legal guardian." He regrets the sarcasm as soon as it's out of his mouth, but just then, Anna comes into the kitchen.

"Ready to go?" she asks.

"As ready as he's going to be," Jarvis answers, his voice weary. He hands his wife a full picnic hamper, and she takes it and motions to Tony. Dragging his feet, the boy follows the diminutive form of the butler's wife through the crowd of lawyers and reporters. She goes to the far garage, where she and Jarvis keep their elegant tan Cadillac.

Tony doesn't say anything, and Anna doesn't break the silence, except to say, as she's turning the key in the ignition, "Darling, my mother died when I was born, but I lost my father when I was older, during the war. I won't force you to talk, but if you want to, I'll listen." He doesn't speak because he wants to spite her, to spite everything in the horrible world that took his parents and left him with a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach and confusion about two people he both loved and hated.

After an hour of driving, they pull onto a dirt road that leads to Stark Lake. It's on the family property, so Tony knows they won't meet anyone else. He thinks about the men at his house and seethes at the fact that he's been dismissed like a child.

Anna pulls over and stops the car. "Here we are," she says, "and I've brought food for us. Edwin says a couple of hours should give him time to clear the house."

"I don't care about your _ picnic," says Tony, letting his feelings come out of his mouth as he stares hard at the dirt under his feet.

"Anthony Stark, look at me." The small woman takes his face in her hands and turns it toward her forcibly. "You've had a terrible loss and a shock, and I'm sorry. But that does not give you the right to be rude and ungrateful to Edwin and I or the rest of the household staff. Your father had faults, but one thing he never did was treat any of his employees badly. You would do well to follow his example."

Shocked by her unusual vehemence, Tony speaks from a mouth and throat that suddenly feel curiously dry. "I'm—sorry, Mrs. Jarvis." He adds, shyly, "You're not my employee anyway. You're—my guardian." He's tentative. Her husband has made his position on the matter clear, but Anna hasn't said it herself.

"Oh, come here." The boy finds himself guided over to the bench that sits in front of the lake and into the arms of his butler's wife. She hums softly and embraces him, stroking his hair comfortingly. Finally, he weeps, and the anger and bad temper come out in the tears. Sobs shake his body, but Anna doesn't let go.

"Darling," she says, "I'll always be Anna to you, and I'll be your guardian until the day I die." Tony presses his face into her small, bony shoulder. "You're nearly a man," she says, "but you'll always be my Tony." After a while, he sits up, and they stay, shoulder to shoulder, for a long time.

"Is Jarvis mad at me?" The boy turns to Anna.

She shakes her head. "He can't stay mad at you for two minutes. Couldn't stay mad at your father, either. I know—he can't replace your dad, but you've always been like a son to him."

Tony doesn't tell her that, as much as he aches inside, the person who perished on the road wasn't the person who feels like a father to him. Howard Stark had the name, but Edwin Jarvis feels like the real thing.

\---

It's Father's Day, a day Tony Stark always spends alone on purpose. He sits in the middle of his lab, with JARVIS positioned to project old film onto the wall. "Show me my parents' funeral," he says.

He's long since reached the point where he can watch without feeling upset. There's regret for the years he missed with Howard and Maria Stark, but he's faced the fact that even if he'd had those years, they would no doubt have been punctuated by the same aching disappointment as the ones when they were alive.

No, the reason he's watching the tape is to catch the moment the cameraman focused his lens on him—the teenaged Tony Stark with his butler behind him, the man's hand on his shoulder. He remembers the feeling of that hand, the warm, solid pressure that kept him anchored to earth during one of the worst days of his life.

"Thanks, Jarvis," he breathes. "You were—a great dad."

"You're welcome, Sir," says his AI politely. Tony grins. Jarvis wouldn't have wanted just any computer to be named after him, but a computer as gentlemanly as JARVIS—that's something he would have loved.


	11. Guardian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In action, he's been Tony Stark's father for a long time; now he can think of himself that way without being disloyal.

Edwin Jarvis feels like he's lived about a year in a single day. He's seated at his own kitchen table, with a pile of papers in front of him, all complete. Finally, the last vulture, as he thinks of them, has left the house, and he's finished every business-related task that absolutely has to be done right away.

He puts his head in his hands and breathes deeply, wondering where his wife and son have been all day. He catches himself, but not until the thought is complete. Son. In action, he's been Tony Stark's father for a long time; now he can think of himself that way without being disloyal.

He wonders if Tony is still angry. It doesn't really matter. He just wants to see him, to hug him and remind him that he'll never be on his own. He remembers the days after his wife's father's death, how much reassurance she'd needed, how vulnerable she'd been. Tony is younger and and more wounded; he will need even more care.

A tap at his door rouses him, and he says "Come in," wondering if some other banker or investor or customer has come to take up his remaining energy. Instead, Tony enters his suite, looking younger than his teenaged years, with a question in his eyes.

"Jarvis, I'm sorry about this morning. If you're mad at me, I deserve it." The butler gets up as quickly as he can and covers the space between them, wrapping his arms tightly around the boy.

"I'm not mad at you, Tony." He feels the hard sobs that shake the body against his, and he just holds on tightly, not letting go. "Ana and I will always be here. We'll always love you, no matter what. You can trust us."

"Why?" asks Tony, the question so soft Jarvis can hardly hear it.

"Because you're ours." His son relaxes in his hold, and his breathing evens out.

"Jarvis?"

"Mhmm?"

"I'd—like to stay here with you and Ana for a while, not go back to school. I could get a tutor or go to school around here or something."

"I'd like that too," Jarvis answers honestly, "but if you change your mind later, it's all right."

Tony looks up, and his eyes drill into the butler's. "I didn't mean what I said before. I'm—glad you're my guardian."

"Me too," says Jarvis simply.

After another hug, his charge goes off to his room, and his wife takes the boy's place. "How did that go?" she asks, perching on his knee and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Very well," he answers, smiling and leaning against her, exhausted. "It's not going to be easy, you know. There will be girls and drinking and parties and all kinds of things we can't imagine."

"Are you speaking from experience?" His wife tickles the back of his neck playfully, making him shiver.

"Only one girl," he replies, his eyes drooping. "She's right here, and she's very beautiful, and I want her to tuck me in bed before I fall over."

Within a few minutes, he's under the thick coverlet of his bed, snuggled against his wife. As he falls asleep, comfortable and warm, he dares to hope that maybe things will turn out all right.

\---

Tony Stark looks through his files for the missing deed of a piece of property he technically owns in the middle of Montana but hasn't ever thought about. Perfect place for a development laboratory, though.

Finally, he pulls out a yellowed document, so old he hasn't bothered to digitize it. Immediately, he sees that the handwriting isn't his father's; it's Edwin Jarvis's, and the date on it is the day after his parents' death, a day he remembers well.

"JARVIS," he says, "send a letter to the development board. I'm not going to build a lab on the Montana site. I'm going to build a grief counseling center."

"Yes, Sir. Would you like to name the project?"

Tony doesn't hesitate for a moment. "Project Guardian."


	12. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's what it's like," he suddenly realizes, lighting flashing through his brain, exactly like it does when he reaches the answer to a perplexing problem with one of his inventions.

"I didn't know you knew what that was." Tony Stark accepts an oblong metal tool from his guardian's hand, the one he's just asked for.

Jarvis smiles. "I wasn't only your father's butler, you know."

Tony looks around and thinks of something he's been too self-absorbed to notice. "You've—been spending a lot of time with me in the lab, Jarvis. I'm—sure you have other things you need to be doing."

The two are standing quite close together, so it's not much of a stretch for Jarvis to put a hand on his shoulder. "It's been too long since I've had something interesting to do. Besides, now that you're home, you're our first priority."

"I wish my parents had felt that way," Tony mumbles before he can stop himself, staring at his shoes. It's been a few months since their deaths, and he doesn't miss them much. He wishes he did. It feels wrong for their absence from the world to have affected his life so little.

"Me too," Jarvis agrees matter-of-factly. Tony looks up and meets eyes that are as wet as his own.

To outside views, the Stark heir is doing very well. He's at the top of his class at the local high school, and even if he didn't have the Stark money, he'd be invited to any university he'd like to attend in a few years.

Inside, he feels younger than his years. Inside, he's come to realize the unhappy truth that as long as his parents were alive, something in him, some part he hadn't realized was even still there, had kept wishing and hoping and aching for something to change—for the three of them to be a real family. That part is the part that aches unbearably now, even though nothing in his life has changed without them. That part makes him, a teenager who feels like he should be older and stronger, cry himself to sleep every night over the fact that his hope of a family is gone forever.

As boy and butler are finishing up for the day, Jarvis clears his throat. "I almost forgot. Dinner will be a little early this evening, six-thirty instead of seven, because Mrs. Jarvis is preparing it, and she's got a head start on us. She's making her speciality—a Hungarian stew. You're in for a treat."

"I'll be there."

Tony steps through the door of the Jarvises' suite at six twenty-five, holding a rose from the garden. Mrs. Jarvis loves roses.

"Hello, darling." Accented English reaches his ear, and Jarvis's beautiful wife comes out of the kitchen to greet him, wearing an apron and a smile. She envelopes him in one of her famous hugs and puts the rose in her hair, behind her ear.

"Go watch television for a moment, sweetheart. Dinner will be on in a tick." He goes to his butler's small living room and sits on the old, comfortable sofa, but he doesn't turn on the TV. Instead he savors the smell of stew and watches through the kitchen doorway as the butler and his wife collaborate to finish the meal. They're loud—laughing, bumping into each other, and, once, he catches them kissing. So much happiness.

Tony eats dinner with them every night now. There's no need to open the dining room when there's no one to entertain, and there's no need for the fancy dinners the chef used to make. Jarvis is a good cook anyway, and his wife doesn't cook much, but she's very good company.

Within ten minutes, the table is filled, and the three of them sit down to a dinner of hearty beef stew and dark brown bread. "Darling," says Jarvis, when they've all been served, "Tony's had another—what do they call them here—oh, report cards, yes—he's had another one of those from school, and I don't quite understand how they do the grades here, but his teachers say he's doing terribly well."

The boy blushes. He always has straight-As. No need to make a big deal out of it every time. But Ana leans over and puts her hand on his arm. "That's wonderful, Tony. We're so proud of you." He can't help smiling. They've dispensed with the "Master Tony" now. No more need for it.

Over dinner, they talk about inventions—Tony's and Ana Jarvis's. She's nearly as clever as he is, though he doesn't think she realizes it. Her talents lie in the direction of weapons concealment for espionage, and she's very, very good at it. The butler, of course, knows about the boy's robots and his wife's disguises, and he discusses both easily.

When dinner is over, Tony helps Jarvis with the dishes. "Would you like to stay in for The Man from U.N.C.L.E.?" the butler asks.

Tony shakes his head. "I have a research paper to write for English class."

The dishes finally dry, their evening ritual commences. Ana Jarvis is already on the couch, waiting for David McCallum to grace the TV screen, and she blows him a kiss. "Good night, sweetheart," but Jarvis walks him out to the mansion hallway.

"Good night, Tony," he says gently. The boy isn't put to bed any more. That would be ridiculous at his age. But, as always, Jarvis puts warm arms around him and holds him tightly for a moment. It's non-negotiable. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Jarvis." He's used to saying it every night; that doesn't mean he doesn't mean it.

Tony goes to his room, feeling warm and light and, well, happy. "That's what it's like," he suddenly realizes, lighting flashing through his brain, exactly like it does when he reaches the answer to a perplexing problem with one of his inventions.

That's what it's like to have a mom and a dad who adore each other. That's how it is to be a family together, to eat a delicious, imperfect dinner at a normal-sized table in a regular-sized house. That's how it feels to be home, to be surrounded by love. He hasn't lost his chance after all; he just didn't see that it was happening all around him.

For the first time since the accident, he doesn't cry himself to sleep because he's heartbroken. The tears that soak his pillow come from the overwhelming feeling of how lucky he is and how much he's loved—by a family who didn't have to love him but chose to anyway.

\---

Tony Stark is cuddling with Pepper Potts. "You're quiet today, Mr. Stark," she says playfully, pulling up the blanket that's fallen off the sofa at their feet and wrapping it securely around both of them against the winter chill.

"You're my family," he says softly, kissing her forehead slowly and gently, almost reverently.

"And you're my family." Her tone matches the seriousness of his. Pepper never makes light of his moods. After so many years, she reads him perfectly, and he finds it deeply comforting.

Tony's house is nothing like the small suite where the Jarvises lived, and nothing in his life is much like it was when he was a teenager who'd just lost his parents. But when he holds Pepper, the feeling is just the same, the warmth and absolute security of belonging, of being totally enveloped in love so thick it can't be measured.

"JARVIS," he calls out. "Tell the chef to make Ana Jarvis's Hungarian Stew for dinner."

"As you wish, Sir," is the polite reply.

Pepper doesn't ask why. She just settles against his chest, her robe-clad body a soft, soothing weight against him, anchoring him to earth and to everything that makes him feel whole in the world. He opens his eyes and looks down at her, and she feels his gaze and meets it. "You're never going to leave me." It's a statement, not a question.

"No," she echoes. "I'm never going to leave you."


End file.
